Simple Company
by Brii Taylor
Summary: "Now was the moment—the last possible moment Ziva would have to try and deny him." Tony invites Ziva over for movie night during a winter storm, but now she's stuck.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Hey! It's me again. I wrote this around Christmas, but I had to sit on it for awhile to decide if I wanted to publish this or wait. I decided to publish now, because this doubles as an announcement: I will not be continuing with Do Something. It's too much to do. I've got more than enough on my plate as it is already. So I'll be posting this two shot this week, and then I am taking a writing sabbatical to work with some of my other fics. I will return, though. Never fear.

So enjoy. The last chapter will be up tomorrow or Friday.

Brii

* * *

><p>The lobby of Tony's apartment building had a surprisingly large fireplace, so big that Tony was almost sure he could sit in it. It was rarely actually used—citing prices of fuel and heating, his landlord preferred to sit a fake gas fireplace inside it and use that instead. But since it was just after Christmas, and because Tony had both cut down enough firewood to keep it burning for the next three months and paid his landlord rent-and-a-half to do it, there was a large real fire burning merrily inside of it. He'd been particularly upset at McGee one day, and seen a sign hailing free firewood on the way to his favorite out-of-town strip club, which had unfortunately reminded him of the giant fires his father's butler would make. The memory, and a sudden longing for the fires of his youth, made him stop and haul ass with a splitter until, sweating and red-faced, he'd stopped. The resulting pile had been over his head and he'd had to borrow the man's truck to get it all home, but now Tony was determined to have a fire in his apartment building. He surveyed the crackling fire with a slow smile. He had big plans for that fireplace, and the fire in it, too.<p>

Two Hours Later

Tony's buzzer rang just as he finished putting on a touch of cologne. With one last, slightly apprehensive look in the mirror, he opened the door and headed downstairs.

He met Ziva at the door, just as she was pulling out her lock-picking kit.

"Ziva, Ziva, Ziva," Tony said with a grin, throwing on a quick cover of nonchalance to hide his nerves.

"You could have just buzzed me in," she said reproachfully as she put away the picks.

"You could have just been patient," Tony said with a smile.

"It is snowing outside," Ziva said mock-reproachfully, standing close to him. "I do not like the snow. Are you going to let me in, or are we going to have movie night on your porch?"

"Of course not," Tony scoffed. "I am, after all, a gentleman."

"Hardly," Ziva said airily.

"I'm offended! Ms. David." He bowed as he held the door open for her. "See? A lesser man wouldn't have held the door."

She smirked. "Okay, Tony. You have me in your apartment. Now what is it?" she asked. "What do you want that was so important you dragged me out of my home, and into the snow?"

Now it was Tony's turn to smirk. "Don't be ridiculous, Ziva. You and I both know you weren't home. Besides, it's movie night," he added with a grin.

She smiled, albeit wanly. "Very well," she said with an air to suggest that she was only following along to please him. "What movie is it tonight?"

"I was going to suggest _It's A Wonderful Life_. I have a digitally re-mastered black-and-white version, and the audio's just crystal-clear—"

She stopped him with a finger to the lips. "Christmas was three weeks ago," she said. "I don't want to watch a Christmas movie."

"Well do you have a suggestion, then?" Tony asked.

"Actually, yes," Ziva said. She pulled a DVD from her coat pocket."

"_Forrest Gump_?" Tony asked.

"Yes," she said. "I find the young Gary Sinise to be very…"

"Crazy?" Tony supplied.

"No," Ziva said with a flirty grin. "Hot."

"Oh really," Tony said with his eyebrows raised. "Interesting."

"Yes. He's got a very nice back. And his front's not that bad either."

Tony grinned. "You're crazy, but whatever. Start the popcorn," he said. "I'll get it started."

2 Hours, 9 Minutes, 6 Seconds Later

As the white feather drifted from the grass by Tom Hanks's brown right loafer and into the sky, Ziva quickly wiped a tear from her eye.

"Ziva David," Tony's voice rumbled quietly in her ear. They had been curled up together on the couch, and his voice reverberated in his chest. "Are you crying?"

"No," Ziva denied. She tried to sniff surreptitiously and failed.

"Yes you are," Tony said. "What, did Tom Hanks get to you?"

"My father took us to see this when I was thirteen," she said toughly. "He did not stay for the ending. Whenever I watch this, I think of the relationship Eli and I had, and how it will never be anything like the relationship Forrest has with his son. So excuse me if I am a little, uh, what's the word? Bleary?"

"Teary," Tony said softly. He looked down at her. "I'm sorry."

"It is okay," she said. She looked at her watch. "It is late. I should go."

"Oh, come on, Ziva," he argued. "It's blizzarding out there."

Ziva rolled her eyes. "Even I know that 'blizzarding' is not a word, Tony."

"Whatever," he said. "It's still really cold outside. And snowing."

"Well spotted," Ziva replied. "I have to go."

"Ziva," Tony said with a roll of his eyes. "You don't have to go anywhere."

"I do," Ziva insisted, getting to her feet. "I'm meeting a friend."

"It's late, Ziva," Tony said softly. "You're not meeting anyone this late. Stay with me."

Ziva shook her head resolutely. "I think it is time for me to go, Tony."

"Fine," Tony said with a slight huff. He stood up. "At least let me walk you to your car," he said imploringly. He gave her his best smile, and she laughed.

"Oh, okay then," she relented. He helped her into her coat and swiftly got his own.

They walked out of his apartment and down the hall. Tony resisted the urge to grab her hand as they stepped off the elevator.

"Wait," Tony said, stalling for time while he thought of a way to get her to stay. "My fire's dying." He walked over to the fireplace and added a few logs to the dying fire. Ziva watched him from where she stood while he worked.

"I didn't know you knew how to keep a fire burning," Ziva said honestly. Tony smiled.

"Well, there're a lot of things you don't know about me," he said. "Come here."

She didn't need much encouragement; the lobby was chilly away from the fire. She slinked closer to him, watching the fire with a kind of fascination. Tony snuck a look at her, watching the flames dance in her eyes for a second before quickly returning his gaze to the coals.

"There," he said, poking the fire with the poker one final time. "It's perfect." The fire was now built up to a blaze, dancing and giving off the kind of heat only a real, wood-burning fireplace can give. He put the poker down, but continued to stare at the fire, pretending to warm his hands but still wasting time. He had hoped to convince her to stay longer, but his brain was completely stalled for ideas.

Suddenly, something icy touched his cheek. He yelped before realizing it was Ziva.

"Sorry," she murmured. "You had ash on your face."

"No I didn't," he said, rubbing the spot anyway. She smirked.

"Well, I have to get going," she said after a moment. "Thank you for calling me."

"Hey, it's no problem," Tony said quietly. "I'd been hoping that you would come over anyway, and when you didn't, well, ya gotta do what ya gotta do."

"Well, it was a very nice evening," Ziva said, touching his cheek again. Tony flinched.

"Ziva, your hands are freezing," he said, taking them. "You really need to get a pair of gloves."He began to rub them together in between his, all the while naming different types of gloves that she could get, rolling his eyes when she produced the pair she'd been using.

"Ziva, those are a cheap polyester/wool blend," he said mock-scathingly, taking them and throwing them over his shoulder. "This is DC. You need a better pair of gloves." And he was off again—leather, wool, nylon, rayon, and something called Thinsulate—all the while gently rubbing her hands together, warming them.

"I'm sorry," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm afraid I can't allow you to go out into that blizzard without the proper pair of gloves."

She rolled her eyes. "I will be fine, Tony," she said, nonetheless rewarding him with a small smile as she took her hands back. "Now if you aren't going to come with me because it is too cold, I will go by myself."

"Oh, come on, Ziva," he said easily. "I just got the fire started again, and it's so cold out there. I mean, listen to that fire. It's all crackling and snapping, and burning bright. Doesn't it sound so nice and warm?" He cocked his ear theatrically, and Ziva couldn't help but laugh.

"No, no," she said with a shake of her head. "I really have to slurry."

Tony smiled, recognizing a lost cause when he saw one. "Hurry," he corrected softly. "Are you sure you want to go out there? I mean, I don't mind, but someone who was born and raised in the desert—"

"I am sure. And I will be fine," Ziva said with a smile.

"All right, then," Tony said reluctantly. "Let's go." He held out his arm like an old-fashioned gentleman. She slapped it out of the way as she walked past him. He raised an eyebrow at her as he caught up, making her smile again.

"What's your hurry, Ziva?" he asked. They were walking rather quickly.

"I like to walk fast, Tony, you know that," she intoned. She was doing her best to spurn his advances; clearly this was some gimmick to get her to stay longer, probably for sex, and she was not going to fall victim. As undeniably attractive as he was, and as strong as the chemistry they had was, she didn't want to go there with him. Tony was a notorious player, something she had seen over the years. Why would she bother getting involved with him if she knew he was a man-whore? She would only end up hurting herself and, inevitably, him.

"Ziva?" Tony said softly, bringing her out of her reverie. "It's still snowing."

"I can see that, Tony," she said, effortlessly keeping her tone light.

"The roads are going to be hell."

"I will be fine," she said tersely.

"I know you probably will, but will the rest of the drivers on the road be?" Tony asked. Ziva shot him a look.

"They will also be fine," she said, deciding not to break his fingers for that remark.

"All right, if you're sure…" he trailed off, looking out at the storm.

"Well, goodbye, then," she said to him, giving him a hug. He held her a bit tighter for just a moment before releasing her.

"You sure I can't convince you to stay?" Tony asked as she opened her car door.

"You cannot," Ziva said. She reached underneath her seat and got out a snow brush.

"Let me help you," Tony said. He took the brush from her hands without letting her argue and began to wipe the snow piled at least six inches deep on her windshield.

"Don't stand out there in the cold, Ziva," Tony said. "Start the car; it'll help melt the snow."

Ziva nodded, slightly touched by his kindness, and got in her car, brushing the still-falling snow off her seat. She shut her door and put on her seatbelt. She caught a glimpse of Tony through the windshield. He was frowning as he wiped off the left side of her windshield. She was wondering what was bothering him when she turned the key.

Nothing happened. Frowning herself now, she turned the key again. Still nothing happened, not even a click. She tried it once more, this time turning the key several times. Nothing. Growling out a Hebrew curse word, she popped her hood, making Tony jump as she got out of the car.

"Ziva, what happened to starting the car?" he asked her.

"It will not start," she said, walking around to the front of her Mini. It had been running fine on the way over; why was it now choosing to malfunction? Tony quickly brushed off the snow and Ziva lifted the hood.

"I think the battery's dead," she said, looking into the car.

"You get any clicking noises when you tried to start it?" DiNozzo asked, peering over her shoulder.

"No," Ziva said through gritted teeth. "It was as silent as a rat."

"Mouse, Ziva, and that means it's not the battery. It might be the starter, but I won't be able to tell. I'd call a tow truck in the morning, if I were you," Tony suggested. He was glad that the lighting was low, because he was unable to keep the hopeful grin off his face. Was this another chance? Was this some sort of cosmic sign, telling him to not let go?

"Why not now?" Ziva asked, interrupting his train of thought as she stalked towards him. Tony quickly turned his grin into a slightly sarcastic smirk.

"Ziva, we've gotten six inches of snow in the past two hours alone. According to the Weather Channel, we're going to get at least another eight inches in the next six. No tow truck's gonna come out here right now." Smiling at the look on her face, he jerked his head back towards his apartment building. "Come on in, where it's warm."

Ziva looked in dismay at her snow-bound Mini. The car seemed to grin at her mischievously. Sighing, she gave up, got her keys out of the car, locked it, and followed Tony into the apartment.

"Maybe I'll stay for coffee," she called after his retreating back.

_Yeah, right, _Tony thought to himself with a small smile, silently thanking every deity he could think of. "If you say so," he called back. He held the door for her again, this time ignoring the fire, which burned brightly in the fireplace. Some of his neighbors had come down to enjoy the fire, and they smiled at Tony and Ziva. One of his neighbors waved him over, calling out to him to enjoy the fire, but Tony shook his head and steered Ziva gently towards the elevator, moving his arm casually to her waist.

His apartment, which before Tony had left had seemed dark and lonely, now held an open-ended night. With Ziva "staying for coffee", he knew he'd been given another chance.


	2. Chapter 2

"It's quiet in here," he said cheerily to Ziva as he began to brew a pot of coffee. "My iPod's in the dock; would you turn it on?"

Ziva harrumphed. "It's not going to work, you know," she called to him.

"What, the iPod? No, it's been charging all day, it should be fine," Tony replied.

"I didn't mean the iPod, Tony," she said, coming into the kitchen.

"Then what are you talking about, Ziva?" Tony asked innocently.

"This," she gestured vaguely. "Whatever it is you're trying to do with this. It's not going to work."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tony said with a smile. She smiled back mockingly before walking back to the iPod docking station and hitting play. Immediately, Coltrane began to blare from the speakers. Startled, Ziva turned it down quickly.

"Jazz?" she hissed.

"Do you have a problem with jazz?" Tony asked.

"No," Ziva said with some difficulty. "I just prefer something with a little faster tempo. Besides," she added with a pointed look in his direction, "Your neighbors might think we're having sex."

"Ha!" Tony scoffed. He poured coffee into two cups, adding whiskey and Irish cream to both. He stirred them both quickly and then brought them out, handing one to Ziva.

"Thank you," she said. Tony took a sip, wincing slightly as the coffee burned his mouth and the alcohol burned his throat. Ziva, however, sniffed her drink suspiciously.

"What is in this?" she asked. "Did you put alcohol in here?"

"It's called Irish coffee, Ziva," Tony said. Ziva rolled her eyes.

"I am going home," she said, setting the cup down.

"Your car won't start, remember?" Tony said, setting down his coffee, too. "And even if you did, the roads are really bad out there. I wouldn't let you drive."

"Well then, I will get a cab," Ziva said. Tony crossed the room, blocking her path to the door.

"There aren't any cabs," he said.

"Then I will walk," she snapped, deftly avoiding his attempt to grab her before she reached the door. She pulled out her orange hat and jammed it on her head.

"That's not going to happen, Ziva."

"Are you going to stop me?" she challenged him, moving so that they were millimeters apart. He grinned devilishly.

"I can try," he admitted, "but if you want to go out, get lost, and freeze to death, that's fine with me. It's a blizzard out there, Ziva."

"I have seen worse," she said, not mentioning that she had ended up being snowed in for three days. He smiled and slipped his arms around her.

"Ziva, you don't want to go out there. It's—" her closeness and worry got to him, and he faltered. "It's _really_ bad out there. Please stay."

Ziva looked in his eyes. She saw his worry—real worry for her—and couldn't see any hidden motives.

"I wish I knew how to stop this," she breathed. He blinked.

"Stop what?" he asked hesitantly.

"The storm," she said after a long, pregnant pause. He smiled, noticing how her eyes sparkled in the still-low light.

"Of course," he said. "The storm. It's not something we can control, unfortunately." His eyes flicked up to the orange hat that capped her head.

"Why's your hat on? Take it off, Ziva. I liked the way your hair looked before." He used two fingers to pluck the hat from her head.

Ziva sighed, shrugging out of her coat. "Give me that," she said, snatching it out of his hands and stuffing it in her sleeve.

"You'll stay?" he asked hopefully.

"I should be saying no," Ziva said lightly, stepping out of his reach.

"You don't really have a choice," Tony said.

"You are right," she said, giving him a resigned sort of look. "I really don't. When we get out of here, I am going to say that I tried to leave."

"Ouch," he said, feigning pain. He clutched his chest. "That was harsh. Oh, look," he said, looking down and pointing at a spot on his chest.

"Yep," he said, nodding as he continued to examine his chest. "You left a mark with that one. See?"

She looked down at his chest, eyeing it critically. After a moment, she glanced back up at him, smiling wryly.

"I do not see anything," she said. She made the mistake of catching his eye. She saw something in his eyes; a product of their chemistry, no doubt, but she also had no doubt that it was real.

"I really should not stay," she said.

"Don't hold out on me, Ziva," he said. "It's snowing like hell out there."

"I do not like the cold weather," she admitted. He smiled—he knew he had her.

"Well, it's cold outside," he said, trying to keep the triumph out of his voice. "I'm making steak for dinner. Would you like to help?"

"This is good," Ziva admitted as she chewed the piece of steak.

"I soaked it in wine," Tony said with a smile.

"Marinated," Ziva corrected him.

"Marinated," Tony repeated. "Right. I marinated it in wine. I used the cheap grocery store stuff; for some reason, it tastes better."

She smiled. "Well, whatever you did, it tastes very good." She poked her fork into the mashed potatoes, tasting them hesitantly.

"Wow, Tony," she said appreciatively. "That is good."

"You're not the only one who can cook," Tony said. "Don't sound so surprised."

She smiled, taking a sip of wine that was certainly not cheap.

They finished dinner, talking casually. After dinner, dishes were a joint effort. They worked in comfortable silence, making short work of the pile.

"Well," Tony said as he dried the last dish and put it away. "Want to watch another movie? I have _Ransom_, if you like Gary Sinise so much; we could watch that."

Ziva, however, looked at her watch. "I have to go, Tony," she said apologetically. Tony's face fell.

"Ziva, come on," he said. "We went over this; it's cold and it's blizzarding outside."

"No, Tony," she said softly. "I cannot stay here."

"Where are you going to go?" Tony asked. "You can't go anywhere."

"I will figure something out," she said, reaching for her coat. Tony grabbed her free hand.

"Ziva," he said softly, "I'm really lucky that you dropped by. I mean it."

Ziva looked at him with sadness in her eyes that Tony didn't want to understand. "Tony," she said softly, putting her other hand over his, "This evening was great, and I loved spending time with you, especially this time of year, when I have no—no family to go to, but I cannot stay."

Tony felt his luck slowly fading as he looked at her, trying to find the words that would describe what he was feeling.

"Ziva." He said her name again, unable to keep the plea out of his voice. She looked at him, sorrow and regret and desire doing battle in her eyes. She looked away, unable to keep his gaze.

"What, Tony," she said as flatly as she could. It wasn't a question; more of a statement that she'd repeated over and over, a Hail Mary she'd throw out when she was unable to keep up the façade. DiNozzo's plea for her to stay, his confession of loneliness and his feelings for her died in his throat.

"Look outside," he said with an air of grasping at straws. "Look out at the storm. You won't make it out there."

"Tony, do not," she said. "I will be fine. And besides, we cannot stay together tonight. What will they say at work tomorrow?"

"They won't say anything," Tony said.

"Abby will say something," Ziva said firmly. "She will notice us coming in."

"Abby comes in at 6 a.m.," he replied, slowly coming closer to her. He tried to give her his usual flirty grin, but the effect was ruined somewhat by his silent desperation.

"McGee will notice when you and I walk into the bullpen," she said, feeling her resolve weakening. "Together. You are never on time."

But Tony wasn't listening. Carefully, he encircled her in his arms, bringing her close.

"You know, your lips look just beautiful tonight, Ziva," he said softly. "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

"If I stay here, Tony, Gibbs will know," Ziva said weakly, ignoring his question. His closeness, and his gentleness, combined with the wine, was clouding her mind. _Would it be so bad to stay? _She was no longer sure. Tony leaned forward, and she closed her eyes without thinking.

His lips settled over hers for a soft, sweet kiss. Ziva was partly too shocked to do anything, and partly unable to do anything.

"Tony," she whispered brokenly when his lips left hers. She didn't even open her eyes.

"Please stay," Tony whispered in her ear, sending shivers of awareness down her spine.

"Maybe just another glass of wine," she relented softly. She knew she wasn't going anywhere tonight now. Not that she was going to go down without a fight, and not that Tony was going to know that he had her.

"Thank you," Tony said softly. Reluctantly, he released her.

"I've never seen such a blizzard like that before," Tony said hesitantly in the silence that followed. Ziva nodded mutely, wondering how she could have let herself be roped into this.

"I have," she said woodenly. "It was when I was with Mossad. It was the last mission I went on with Ari before he—" the word stuck in her throat, and she shook her head, angrily refusing the sting in her eyes and at the back of her throat.

"Hey, Ziva, it's okay," Tony said softly from behind her. He set something down on the coffee table with a soft _clink—_probably a wine glass—and came to stand with her by the window. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around her and let her settle against his chest.

"You don't have to be strong with me," he murmured in her ear. Ziva sighed quietly, closing her eyes against the sting of tears.

"I want to go home," she admitted quietly, her voice a husky whisper.

"Oh, Ziva, you'll freeze out there," Tony said.

"No," Ziva said. "I want to go home, back to Israel."

Tony was quiet for a long moment. "Oh," he said finally, trying and failing to keep the surprise and sadness out of his voice.

"Do not say it like that," Ziva said regretfully. "The feeling, it comes every year around this time. I miss my family. I cannot help it…it will go away."

Tony's voice was deep and husky with emotion as he spoke his next, carefully chosen words. "Ziva… We're as much your family as Eli, Ari, Tali, and your mother were. We may show it differently, with head slaps and jokes instead of family dinner or Shooting-Range Tuesdays, but we're your family now. It's okay to miss them, though, Ziva, it really is. I miss my family, too, sometimes, as screwed up as my father is. It's one of the reasons I invited you over."

Ziva sniffed. "And I thought it was to try to Americanize me," she said, making a weak joke. Tony smiled slightly into her hair.

"I want you to be a part of my family," Tony whispered, almost too quietly for her to hear. She turned in his arms, a question in her eyes.

"Tony…?" she asked uncertainly.

"No, Ziva," he said softly. "Not like that." _Yet_, he added silently.

"I'm tired of being alone," he admitted. "Please stay with me."

"I should go home," she said, looking back out at the snow.

"Babe, you'll freeze out there." His sudden use of an intimate nickname mentally froze him, and it was because of that that he was unprepared for the elbow to his stomach. She stepped away as he doubled over, wheezing suddenly.

"So let me borrow your coat," she said smartly, crossing her arms over her chest, her need to be held suddenly assuaged.

"It's up—up to your knees out there," he gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Please don't go."

"No, Tony, it is fine, really," she said. "This night was very nice, but I cannot stay here now."

"I'm sorry," Tony said, straightening up. He moved in front of her, looking her in the eyes, trying to be conciliatory.

"Maybe it's just the heat of the moment, or maybe it's because I'm slightly inebriated, but your eyes look beautiful, Ziva; just like starlight." He put his hand tentatively on her cheek, and she let it stay there.

"We cannot do this. Don't you see?" Ziva asked quietly, putting her hand on his.

"Ziva, don't do this to me," he begged, putting his other hand on her other cheek. He didn't care that he wasn't making jokes, didn't care that he wasn't being himself; he didn't even care that he was laying his heart out for her to shoot and stab and walk over as she pleased. He was willing to lay all of himself out for her—and not because he was in the middle of what could have been the wildest ploy to get a woman in bed he'd ever pulled. It wasn't like that. He didn't want to simply have sex with her—simply having sex with Ziva would be like getting a mint condition original Bond movie script and using it as a fire starter. No, sex with Ziva was not in his plans for tonight. He could afford to be desperate for simple company tonight.

"Abby and McGee are going to talk like chickens," Ziva muttered.

"I'm not sure I know what that means," Tony admitted, "But if by that you mean talking, we went over this; they won't know."

"Oh, they will know," Ziva said scathingly. "And if they do not, Abby will imply plenty. It is better if I walked home. I do not live that far."

Tony looked at her, a mixture of sympathy and worry on his face.

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you got sick and died," he said. "Now, I'm tired of playing games. Are you staying, or are you going to try and walk home and get lost?"

Now was the moment—the last possible moment Ziva would have to try and deny him. Not that she would actually succeed—Ziva knew he was right on all fronts. Unless she wanted to try and sleep in the lobby, she was staying.

"I should not stay—" Ziva began broodingly.

"Ah-ah-ah-ah," Tony said. "Get over that, you've used that one too many times tonight for me to believe you. Stay or go, Ziva?"

"—but it is cold outside," Ziva finished, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the nose. "I guess I will stay."

As she looked at Tony's bewildered but quickly joyous expression, Ziva decided that whatever consequences came of that night was worth it.

"Come on," Tony said after a few seconds' recovery. "Let's go build up the fire. It's cold in here."

"Not as cold as it is outside," she said with a smile.


End file.
